I've Got You
by Ghost in the Corner
Summary: It's been three days since Cas died, and Dean hasn't come out of his room since. Sam want to make sure he's okay. And he'll do whatever he needs to do for his brother


Cas died three days ago. He still remembers the look on Dean's face like he was still watching Dean crumple to the ground. He'd started crying before he brought Jack over to the body. He still had the same, horrified expression carved onto his face.

Even worse, Jack's power was too unstable to bring him back. He couldn't even teleport, let alone bring an angel back from the dead. They had to get to a safer location for him to practice. But they weren't about to leave Cas in the middle of nowhere. So while Jack sat in the front seat draped in a blanket contemplating his powers, Dean cradled Cas' limp body in the backseat while Sam drove them all home.

That was the last time he saw Dean. As soon as they got back to the bunker, Dean set Cas carefully on the floor and disappeared into his bedroom with a bottle of whiskey. Sam sighed and let him hide. It'd be better to give him some time before trying to comfort him. Either way, Dean would push him away. At least like this, he might feel better after.

But that was three days ago. It was starting to get too quiet in the bunker. Enough was enough. So, after Sam finished breakfast on the morning of day three, he marched down to Dean's room, ready for anything.

He wasn't very surprised when he opened the door, but it still tugged on his heart. Dean was curled up on his bed in an exhausted sleep. There were still visible tear stains under his eyes. He was clutching an old picture of Cas in his hand, the other still holding the neck of the empty whiskey bottle. The whole room stank with a musky smell which Sam guessed came from Dean's wet pants.

He sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Sam walked over to the bed and knelt down, trying to ignore how much worse the smell was up close. He shook Dean's arm roughly.

"Dean. Wake up." He said loudly. "It's been three days since everything happened. You need to get out of bed,"

Dean whined and shifted without opening his eyes, letting go of the picture. Sam glanced at it, smiling a little when he saw the old photo. He tried waking Dean up again.

"Come on, Dean. You're starting to smell like a corpse," He prodded. Maybe not the best choice of words.

It didn't really matter. Dean whined again and cracked open his eyes. They were distant and unfocused, like he was still drunk. He probably was.

"Alright. Get up. Breakfast is ready," Sam stood up and cracked his back. He walked toward the door and looked back when he didn't hear Dean moving. He was still on his bed, watching Sam.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dean, get up. You can't stay like this forever,"

Dean blinked slowly. Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Are you even gonna try to get out of bed?"

He sluggishly blinked again.

Sam walked back into the room. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders and lifted him off the bed. Dean leaned heavily against him, vaguely trying to recoordinate his footing. The whiskey bottle crashed onto the floor, long forgotten. Sam grimaced. Great. More of a mess to clean up.

"God, I hope you can walk," He muttered as he started leading Dean out the doorway. Dean shuffled his feet lazily as Sam pulled him through the bunker. It was difficult to get him moving, but he managed. Jack was munching on his breakfast when Sam dragged Dean into the kitchen. Jack looked up and gasped.

"Holy shit," Jack exclaimed, the overhead lights shaking in surprise. "Is he okay?" He asked trepidatiously.

Sam shook his head as he sat Dean at the table. "No. He's never been like this. Not even when our dad died."

Jack stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face. He averted Sam's eyes and went back to his food, albeit uncomfortably.

Sam turned to Dean, who was staring blankly at his breakfast. It almost seemed to be getting worse. If food didn't coax him out of his trance, he didn't know what would.

He picked up the plate and lifted it closer to Dean's face. He was hoping it'd be like it was in the old cartoons he used to watch, where the smell would entice someone into eating.

"Dean. Come on. I have breakfast," He scooted closer to him, almost burying Dean's face into the plate as he held it higher.

Dean still didn't react.

Sam frowned and put the plate down. He really felt the gravity of the situation pulling onto his shoulders. Dean's had nothing but whiskey for the past few days. He should've been starving. If Dean wouldn't eat-or even focus on something-extreme measures would have to be taken.

Sam slightly cringed at the sudden thought in his head. God, he was hoping it wouldn't get this far. It never had. But Dean looked hollow, without mentioning the recent weight loss. Something had to be done. And if he wasn't gonna do it for himself…

Sighing, he picked up Dean's fork and scooped some scrambled eggs onto it. "Open wide, Dean," His voice shook with uncertainty as he held the fork to his brother's mouth. He used his other hand to open Dean's mouth and pushed the food in. Sam was immensely grateful when Dean seemed to recognize something in his mouth and began to chew. He seemed to like it, since he made a satisfied moan as he swallowed. He opened his mouth again, expectant.

It was a start. Sam shrugged and picked up some more food. As Dean was chewing, Jack made a small shuffling noise as he stood up.

"I'm gonna go, uh, practice controlling my grace." He awkwardly smiled. Sam smiled back as he put his dishes in the sink. He was glad Jack wouldn't be watching this anymore. It made this a lot less uncomfortable.

Dean grunted with his mouth hanging open. Sam quietly chuckled as he speared more food onto the fork and fed it to his brother. Dean closed his eyes, savouring the taste.

In between feeding Dean, Sam ate his own food while remembering when Dean used to do this for him. Whenever he got stubborn and didn't want to eat, he'd clench his jaw tighter than a drum. Dean would usually use the airplane trick, but if Sam wouldn't eat, he'd result to brute force. Sam would always give happily in after the first bite.

Eventually, both plates were empty. Sam picked them up from the table and put them in the sink. Dean didn't move from the table while he washed the dishes. Sam doesn't even think Dean opened his eyes. It was a little worrying. He tried to ignore it, immersing himself into washing the dishes. Maybe Dean would sort himself out while Sam meditated.

He actually did feel a bit better after he finished up. But that went away entirely as soon as he looked at Dean. He still hadn't moved a muscle. It was still a miracle he was sitting up.

Sam sighed again, walking over to get his brother. Dean limply fell into his arms as he slit his eyes open. He looked up at Sam, looking a little more in touch with reality than before.

That was a good sign.

But he still seemed like he was somewhere. And Sam kind of wished he actually was. Dean just pissed himself again.

Sam clenched his jaw as he heard the tell-tale trickling noise and watched a small, yellow puddle appear on the floor. He inwardly grimaced at the reappearing smell.

On the outside, Sam smiled gently at his brother. "How about we get you cleaned up? You're starting to smell."

No reaction, as if Sam was expecting one. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder and guided him to the showers. It was a big, tile chamber with shower heads every three feet from each other, with a big mirror on the wall across from it. It was like what'd you see in a high school locker room.

Sam started stripping his brother down, throwing his clothes to the side, intending to burn them. He ignored how uncomfortable he felt when he got down to his boxers and slipped them off. Once Dean was completely naked and standing without an issue, Sam started taking his own clothes off.

God, they hadn't had a shower together in years. The last time they did was when he was 6. He used to be deathly afraid of the shower, and Dean would always help him through them. He would wash his hair while telling him ghost stories, trying to get him through the tears.

He smiled fondly as he slipped his pants off. He decided to leave his boxers on. He wanted some privacy, even though Dean was checked out.

Sam walked to the shower head he typically used and turned it on, testing the water every few seconds until it was warm. Nothing like a hot shower to make you feel better.

He grabbed Dean by the shoulders and directed him over to the water. He let it run on Dean for a few minutes before grabbing some of his own shampoo. The good shampoo, from the woman's isle. Not that cheap, damaging shit Dean always bought.

Squirting some into his hand, Sam began to lather it into his brother's hair. Dean mewled contentedly, relaxing as Sam massaged the soap in.

"It's okay, Dean. Just relax. I've got you." Sam said as he rinsed his hair. He made sure to hold a hand over Dean's eyes so they wouldn't get soap in them. Not that he really needed to; Dean's eyes were locked shut.

He continued to clean him from head to toe. He used his conditioner to add some body to his hair. Sam also made sure he rubbed everyone of Dean's muscles until he was practically laying on the floor. Sam quickly washed his own hair before rinsing the soap Dean off and turning off the shower.

Sam grabbed a couple of the towels stacked on the counter and brought them back over. He tenderly lifted Dean off the floor and wrapped him in one. Dean sighed and leaned against Sam, curling into the towel. His hand came up and loosely grabbed an end of the towel. Sam chuckled to himself as he dried Dean off.

Dean whined a little as Sam pulled away and to wrap a towel around his hair. As soon as he finished, Sam had his arms around Dean again, who burrowed into his chest.

"Someone's clingy," Sam muttered playfully as he looked around the room for their clothes.

Shit. He forgot to grab them before their shower. They were still in his room. Sam silently berated himself for a moment before pushing Dean into the hallway. He went willingly, but still pressed himself into Sam.

It was kind of adorable.

Sam rubbed his back as they walked past Dean's room. He was going to wait until Dean was safely sleeping in another room before diving into that abyss. Besides, his clothes fit Dean just fine, if a little baggy. So, they went straight into Sam's room. It was much cleaner than Dean's. There was nothing out of place. Sam liked having his bed made so it felt fresh when he crawled into it.

He sat Dean on the edge of the bed and took his towel, scrubbing his head quickly. He grabbed a new pair of underwear (thank god he went shopping a few days before the whole Men of Letters fiasco) and put it on Dean, along with one of his old Stanford t shirts. Sam threw an old shirt and some boxers on before pulling Dean up the bed and settling them both under the covers. Sam hooked an arm around his waist and pulled Dean closer. Dean huddled up, curling into his brother's warmth, and fell boneless under Sam's arm.

Reaching for the remote, Sam turned on the TV and started to look through Netflix. He wasn't sure what he wanted to watch. He flipped through his recommendations, not finding anything that would hold his attention for long. He glanced down at Dean, who looked at the screen through hooded eyes. Sam shrugged and put on one of those Marvel movies he'd been meaning to watch. He laid his head down, watching Dean watch the movie.

He felt tiredness creeping up on him from somewhere he tried to ignore. He hasn't slept well at all these last few nights. He had no idea what Dean was going through, but he probably had nightmares, too. It sure as hell looked like it earlier that morning. Maybe a nap was in order.

Sam took a deep breath and tightened his hold on Dean. He smelled like lavender. It was probably because of Sam's soaps. They always smelled nice.

Dean was almost asleep too. His breathing was even, and his eyes were closed. He probably hasn't had any sleep at all the past few days. All he probably did was drink and look at old pictures. The only reason Sam found him the way he was this morning was because his body couldn't take the strain anymore.

He smiled as he thought about the picture Dean was holding when he found him. It was from when he was soulless, the first time Cas decided to pop in since he and Dean got back on the road together. They were in the motel room, studying the jar of locusts. Even without a soul, Sam could remember a faint feeling of sentimentality. So he took the picture on his phone and had it developed.

His eyes were closed. Somehow, he didn't notice them drooping of their own accord. Just as well, since Sam was planning on sleeping anyway. He was hoping he wouldn't have a nightmare this time. He never used to when he slept next to Dean. Hell, being in bed with Dean might eradicate them. At least for now.

Sam felt himself doze for a little while until sleep came to drag him under its spell. He gladly let himself be taken.

As he lost consciousness, he heard a quiet, familiar voice.

"Sam?"

He made a vague, noncommittal noise, not quite sure who it was.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled as he relaxed again. Sam smiled, using his free hand to lazily rub circles into Dean's back. Dean moaned and lazily pressed into Sam, mostly asleep.

"You're welcome, Dean." He slurred as he fell into a dreamless sleep, content with his brother laying in his arms, safe.


End file.
